


Pink Sick

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, I do not actually know what a state fair is, Sorry but we don't have states, Visiting the fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 01:18:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13156122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'could i request an imagine where the reader and john lennon go to a state fair and basically just run around super fluffy'I do not know what state fairs are. I improvised. Candy floss!





	Pink Sick

“Candy floss.”

“Oh, love, c’mon…”

You stare, transfixed, as the machine swirls the pink strands around and around, and John looks at you.

“Oh, alright, but yer gonna get it everywhere,” he says peevishly, and you shrug, looking him in the eye. “Oh,  _alright_.” He pulls some coins from his pocket and hands them to the lady, who smiles at him.

“Just one for your lady, is it?” she asks, and he nods, sliding his arm around you; you grin in excitement, and as she hands you the candyfloss you take a nibble at the edge before kissing him on the cheek.

“Ugh, you’re all sticky,” he winces, and guides you away. “Why’re we ‘ere again, like? It’s for kids.”

“Because it’s nice. We are having a day at the funfair, and you behave.” You kiss him again, and he dramatically mimes puking. “Stop being so overdramatic…”

“Yeh wanna go on the Waltzers? Correction, love, we’re goin’ on the Waltzers. Now yeh sick is gonna be all pink and gross.” You shake your head, and he rolls his eyes. “But I wanna…”

“Let me finish my candyfloss first?” you laugh, and bite into the fluffy confection again. It’s so sickening – you know that you shouldn’t finish it all, but you also know exactly how John will react if you don’t, and at this point, finishing it is a matter of spite. He pulls some off and takes a bite, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I bought it,” he says, defensively, and you roll your eyes. “Okay then. Waltzers, yeh, and then I’ll win yeh something ace off the shootin’ gallery.” He strikes a pose, and you can’t help but giggle. “Yeah. None of them crappy goldfish that die when yeh get ‘em home, like.”

“My big strong man,” you coo, and he smiles; that awkward, crinkly smile that makes you want to pull him into your arms every time. “Okay. We’ll go on the teacups.” You peck his cheek one last time, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t wait for yeh to be sick all pink, like…”

“I am not going to be sick on the Waltzers!” you say sharply, and he shakes his head. “There’s a ghost train. Reckon you can make it through that without screaming like a girl and hiding behind me?”

“…yeh cheeky cow. Alright then…” He scoops you up, and you yelp as he starts to march towards it with you. “An’ then we’ll get our faces painted, an’ you can get a great big  _chicken_ , can’t yeh…”


End file.
